Canines
by The Readers Muse
Summary: He could almost see the way the man was pulling himself up, spine methodically straightening as that proud, jutting chin came up with it. Face a hard edged jumble as emotion surged, revealing everything, yet nothing at the same time.  G/D friendship
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Authors ****Note**** #1:** Now this is something a bit different. I am going to admit that that right off the bat. It is probably the only fiction of its kind in this fandom at the moment so…yeah. Perhaps a bit of a shot in the dark? Hopefully you like!

**Authors**** Note ****#2:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**Canines**

It was the low, torturous gasp that gave him away... It was the kind of sound that sneaks past the lips unbidden; one that you _know_ you'll regret in less time then it takes to blink, but can't help but utter it anyway. It was the kind of noise that trumpets that of a revolution. Heralding the beginning of an uncertain change, like the battle charge that sounds out in lue of a death knell.

He could think of perhaps a dozen or more increasingly nerdy allusions to describe it, but he figured it was all moot point anyway. Because quite obviously the metaphorical shit had already hit the fan.

And true to form Daryl whirled way. Crouching down low like a man on the defensive, buck knife already half drawn from its sheath as he turned. Hiding his side from view, as he yanked his dirty old t-shirt back down from where it had been hovering just past shoulder level, caught in the act of removing it completely. But it was too late. …He's already seen it…_them._

The only problem was that he didn't _understand_ what he'd just seen. He couldn't, he just… Daryl _couldn__'__t_ be… _No_.. Oh god. _No_.. _Please.._

Strange how just when you figure that things can't get any worse, irony comes and bitch slaps you from out of nowhere. Just to teach your dumb ass a lesson. But in a word, this was more then that. He felt like he had gotten sucker punched in the gut. The air driven out from his lungs like fate herself had put him in a choke hold. Forcing him to accept what he'd seen even as his heart and mind were already scrambling backwards. _Not__ him.. Anything.. Just__ not__ him._ Not like this..

..Because in close to five seconds flat he was pretty sure that the world might have just gone and ended on him all over again..

He'd been heading down to the river for a bath. Already thinking somewhat x-rated thoughts that involved him, the water, and that half a bar of soap he'd managed to squirrel away from their last supply run. He hadn't even considered the fact that someone could have already be there. Too busy dwelling on the feeling of clean skin and the questionably feminine smelling soap that was all but burning a hole his pocket as he came around the final rocky fissure that separated the river and campsite from view. He hadn't even called out a warning that he was nearby. Maybe if he had he wouldn't have-..

_If wishes were fucking horses indeed._

…He hadn't meant to see him.._them_. He hadn't meant for any of this.. He shook his head. Emotions swelling, thudding in the back of his mind like a pulse, threatening to over take him completely as he blinked back a suspicious sting. And for a long moment he thought he was going to be sick, tasting bile in the back of this throat as he let his arms rest against the brace of his knees. _Fuck_.

And as ridiculous as it might have looked, he squeezed his eyes shut. Trying to ignore the way that he could hear the ragged breaths the older man was taking. The adrenaline spiked inhale, the slowly deflating urge to lunge forward, to protect, and to _fight_. The tone slowly spiraling down as the reality situation rushed in. He could hear it in that slow, drawn out stutter of breath. It was all there, everything from the growing realization, to the dawning whirlwind of emotion that came along with it.

_No._

He could almost see the way the man was pulling himself up, spine methodically straightening as that proud, jutting chin came up with it. Face a hard edged jumble as emotion surged, revealing everything, yet nothing at the same time even as the hold on his buck knife lessened. But he could barely find it in him to be surprised at that, at the older man standing down, his muscles going lax and accepting in spite of it all…

..Daryl _had_ to know what this meant…What _him _knowing about this meant.

He swallowed hard, unable to stop himself as his mind began cycling through the coming days. Flipping forward like microfilm stuck on high speed. Days where there would be no more snarky banter, well meant roughness, or judging silences. No more jibes and thinly disguised lessons. No more surprising levity, unassuming gentleness, and unmistakably venerability all wrapped up into a single, barely controlled package of insurmountable strength and will power.

...He couldn't even _begin_ to catalog the loss..

Because it wasn't just the man's skills he knew he'd miss. He knew they'd _all_ miss. It was the man himself. Tough and ill tempered as he was, Daryl Dixon had come into his own since Atlanta, since Merle and that rooftop. Even the others had seen it. They'd accepted it.. Accepted _him_. Daryl was part of them, their group. _Their__ dysfunctional__ little__ family._ Perhaps he'd always been. Even with the gift of hindsight it was hard to tell. But in the end he supposed it didn't really matter much. All that had mattered was that for the first time in a long time, since the quarry, since _Atlanta_, _.._the future had seemed more like a real possibility then a slim shot in the dark.

…And now that was all over.

But regardless of the tumultuous nature of his thoughts, he kept his lids shuttered, letting the moment grow stale._ Old_. Hoping like hell that this whole moment was nothing more then a hallucination, a nightmare, a trick of the light. Hell he'd even take the fifth on personal insanity at this point. _Anything_.. Because if it wasn't...If Daryl was.. Well, then he just didn't think he could do this anymore. He didn't think he could-..

He breathed out once, and then twice, forcing his pulse to calm as his lashes fluttered open. _He__ could__ do__ this._

Except when he opened them, the marks were still there. He could see them in his mind's eye. The dark smudges, the deep edged puncture points. He knew the exact place where they had disappeared underneath the length of that blue, sweat stained shirt. It was like trying to avert your eyes from the giant pink elephant in the room. Only this time the elephant was the heady, gouging scars of long healed teeth marks. …_Human __teeth__ marks._

…Wait.

_Healed?_

**A/N:** I know this is short. But please let me know what you think? And indeed if you think I should continue? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_Great__ is__ the __power__ of__ habit.__ It__ teaches__ us__ to__ bear__ fatigue__ and__ to__ despise __wounds__ and__ pain.__"__-__Marcus__ Tullius__ Cicero_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Authors**** Note**** #1:** I know this is something a bit different. I am going to admit that that right off the bat. It is probably the only fiction of its kind in this fandom at the moment so…yeah. Hopefully you like!

**Authors**** Note**** #2:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. (Thank you all for all your reviews and encouragement! I was slightly worried about posting it due to the fact that this is probably the first time this type of fiction has been done in this fandom! Ya'll rock!)

**Canines_ – __Chapter__ 2_**

He flinched backwards even as he made to move. Brain and body warring as he forced himself into action, taking a single step forward as the man in front of him took a measured one back. It was almost like the hunter was on the defensive, fingers slipping into half formed fists at his sides. The angry slash of his mouth firming into a half snarl, with tension practically vibrating up his spine as he stood stock still and impossibly straight. Almost as if he were holding himself back by the mere skin of his teeth. But holding himself back from _what_, he was almost afraid to guess.

…In a lot ways, it felt a whole lot like the answer to an unspoken question…

He stared. He couldn't help it. He met the man's gaze without saying a word. Watching the shadows play across the length of those high cheekbones as Daryl's eyes slowly narrowed. Throat visibly working as the man swallowed hard. It was something as close to fear as he'd ever seen the man display. And for reasons entirely beyond him, that thought alone only made him that much more fucking _terrified_.

He let his gaze rove, unconsciously giving himself license as the man remained silent. The hunter's chest working almost frenetically as he simply stood there, stance unchanged, statue still and unnerving as hell as he slowly approached. He took it all in, every visible scar, every bunch of muscle, frown line, fresh cut, and bruise. _Everything._ Even down to that small little mole that graced the side of the man's right cheek, placed so close to the corner of his lip that on anyone else it might have been considered a beauty mark.

It was Daryl through and through_._ There was no doubt of that. The only problem was that that confirmation did little to assure him against what he'd seen. Because he knew what he'd seen. He didn't know how…He didn't know why.. He didn't even understand how it was possible.. _But__ he__** knew**__ what __he__'__d__ seen._

Heat rose, flushing up his neck like a blush as he opened his mouth to speak. Nearly slumping forward in gratitude as the man finally moved. Shifting in front of him as his weight finally moved off the balls of his feet, solidifying equally across the length of his soles as the older man blew out a long, choppy breath, running a brutal hand through his hair. With the swipe itself almost vicious in nature, as if he were taking out his frustrations on himself rather then elsewhere. Apparently unaware that the motion had caused the vast portion of it to stand on end, sticking up in small, sweat slick tufts across his head like the thick bristles on a wire brush.

For a moment he thought the man was going to brush it off, but after a long pause the man's posture changed, subsiding with an almost tangible release as the man blew out a long held breath. Clearly steeling himself to do something drastic as the tip of his tongue peeked out, running across his lower lip as he fixed him with a soulful look.

"…Don't tell." That was all the man said. …_At __first__ anyway.._

He simply blinked back. Unable to shake the cold reality of the moment as he met the man's stare. His blue eyes hard, the intensity of it almost making him feel as though their positions were somehow reversed. But even then, in spite of the nature of the man's words, the long, drawling syllables _didn__'__t_ come out like a plead. They were something else entirely, something _deeper_. It was almost as if the man was asking for something deeper then just his silence. Something _more_ then a simple pact of trust.

And for a long moment they simply breathed out into the silence, ignoring the gurgling trickle of the water at their front, and the rhythmic, almost muted echo of an axe blade meeting raw pine from at the camp site at their back. The others were readying for dinner already..

"Tell _me._" He finally returned, not exactly sure where the sheer daring behind his words were coming from but content to run with it while he had the older man unbalanced. Trying to ignore the fact that he had to clear his throat more then once, voice threatening to break on him as the strain and suspense only mounted. _He__ had __to__ know._

For a long moment he could actually _see_ the man thinking about making up some bullshit story, something that would deflect him with half truths and conjecture. Fixing him with a look that was clearly judging as the cogs and wheels turned. As if wondering how much he could tell and how much he should keep. In the end he almost wished the man had..

"It was from before…" The man began. His voice halting and slow, like he was thinking through each and every word before he gave it voice. Like the words themselves took more effort to utter then they should have.

His stomach only roiled in response. Because he could almost visualize how it had happened. He didn't have to hear it to know the details. _Shit._ It had happened to them all before, probably more then once. Black and white flashes of memories from those moments where you were pinned down…_surrounded_. Especially in those first few days, with all the terror and confusion, where no one knew what to do or even what was going on.

"…Long before this. Any of this." Daryl continued, flinging an arm behind him as if to make reference to everything that lay behind them. Before the CDC, before Atlanta, the quarry, and everything else that had happened since.

"How couldn't you have known? Didn't you hear them!" He suddenly demanded. Angry for reasons he didn't quite understand as he meet the older man's glare head on. Throwing caution completely out the metaphorical window as he all but invaded the man's personal space.

"Would'a. But I was passed out drunk at a rest stop." The man growled, holding his ground. "You know, _not_ drinking and driving and all that shit." The hunter shot back, voice bordering on downright snarky as his arms crossed over his chest.

"..'Sides, they came in through the windows." Daryl continued, booted toe nudging the tip of his crossbow like a reminder as he shifted in place, shoe soles sinking a little bit deeper into the muddy river bank. Digging the point into the raw soil until the earthy smell of freshly broken sod and tangy mineral rich dirt caught in the light breeze. Wafting through the close air like a heady perfume.

"I kicked them out with a tire iron and gunned it all the way home. Didn't even think twice about it neither...There wasn't any infection or disease talk back then, only sporadic reports of rioters, roaming crazies. It was early. Weeks before the first outbreak." The hunter elaborated, shrugging his shoulders slightly, chewing on a ragged nail before spitting it to the side.

"I was sick for a few days, and then nothing. Thought it was the flu or somemat'. It was only afterwards that I realized what it meant. What _they_ meant …_Stupid_." The man muttered, shaking his head lightly, as if in self disgust as he bent down, rummaging through the duffel bag he'd brought down to the water's edge with him.

He simply blinked. "Jesus.." He finally breathed. Because really, only Daryl freaking Dixon would beat the crap out of an bunch of walkers with a tire iron, even when he didn't have a single clue as to what was going on, and still live to tell about it. …_Fucking__ typical._

"Save it kid. Dwellin' on shit like that 'aint gonna do anyone any favors." The man returned. Tone almost as flippant as his words as the man appeared to ignore him completely, crouching down over top the bag for another long moment before he fished out a small, silver plated tin with a victorious grunt. Giving them both an easy out from the sudden awkwardness that had descended in the wake of the man's words.

And as pathetic as it was, he took it. Using it to draw himself away from the feelings that had him tipping on a razors edge, seconds from slipping from his lips. He swallowed hard, forcing down the lump that had taken up residence in the back of his throat. Nearly choking on that slick ball of panic, terror, and near loss until only gratitude remained. He supposed that that would have to do.

_For __now_.

Instead he contented himself with simply watching, letting his mind run rampant as his eyes focused on the way the man flicked open the catch with practiced ease, pulling a tarnished old Zippo from his pocket as he plucked a single, rather squashed looking cigarette from the case. It was the last one in the tin, obviously long saved and carefully hoarded.

_He hadn't even realized the man smoked. Dammit. How had he not caught that? What else about the man had he missed? Or worse, what he had seen and simply explained away as surliness or foul humor?.._

The sudden sound of calloused nails grating against mechanized flint echoed in the near space. And he watched with no small amount of fascination as the man turned to the side, protecting the tentative flame with the length of his back as he carefully lit up. Inhaling luxuriously into the stillness, the man's eyes drifting closed in obvious bliss as his fingers caressed the length of the crumpled thing. Looking somehow more relaxed then he'd ever seen him.

And he shuffled in place as the thought dawned. Taking in the almost _docile_ way the man now stood, frown lines inexplicably softening with each and every inhale. Christ, if only he'd know the man's vice before hand, he could have buttered the man up with L&M's and Marlboro's. He caught himself in mid thought however, drawing himself up short before his mind could stray into more…_dangerous_ territory.

_Because really, wasn't that just a thought?_

Completely oblivious to his inner musings, the man simply exhaled, the light grey smoke exiting his lips in a single, uninterrupted plume as some distant animal bayed into the cooling night air. His eyes watered as the smoke wafted around him, but he didn't dare move. Because that was the moment when it _really_ hit him..

"…Oh _fuck_…Daryl...You're immune…" He breathed.

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Should I continue? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_It's__ a __shallow__ life__ that__ doesn't__ give__ a__ person__ a __few__ scars.__"__ -__ Garrison __Keillor_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Authors ****Note**** #1:** – See original chapter for complete details.

**Authors**** Note**** #2:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**Canines_ – __Chapter __3_**

"..So it would seem." The man returned blithely. The ease in which he answered making the whole reveal seem some how extraordinarily anti-climatic. Like he _hadn__'__t _just gone and changed _everything_ in less time then it took to take a single, hitching breath.

He shook his head, slipping off his hat as he combed through the shock of his unruly black hair. Eying the man introspectively through the thick, sable strands before he mashed his hat back on his head. Didn't Daryl realize what this meant? For fuck sakes, the man was hope personified! …_Again_. Yet another dimension had been added to the growing completion of a brand new whole. He couldn't even begin to describe it..to categorize it or break it down. …But perhaps that was point. Perhaps you couldn't.

He'd spent almost every night since Ed, Carol, and Sophia had arrived at the quarry camp, listening to Carol talk to God. Her heart wrenchingly earnest, and respectful tones asking - praying_,_ no _begging_ for hope. For deliverance, a slim chance, something, _anything_. And now he couldn't help but wonder if the man upstairs had been listening after all…

…But _really_… Fuck Daryl and all this 'layer' revealing bullshit. The man was going to give him a god damn heart attack!...

He couldn't help but get stuck on the pure irony of the whole thing. Daryl Dixon, possible savoir to all mankind? Christ. Maybe _he_ needed to take up smoking. Just when he figured that the world couldn't get any freakin' stranger.

"Makes sense don't it? Every virus has folks with natural immunity, whether it's inherited or otherwise. …The immune system versus antigens and all that shit. Why should _this_ one be any different?" Daryl continued after a pause, looking over at him carefully as he took another long drag from his cigarette. Blue eyes emotive, but as closed off as ever as the tic in his cheek told him what the man would not. Daryl was taking a serious risk here and they both knew it. God knows what would happen if the others knew..

Things were complicated enough right now without this cluster fuck of a bombshell. As good as it was in the long run, in the short term he knew enough to know that it would only cause problems. They had more important things to see too right now. Like food, gas, _survival_. They needed to settle for a little while, rebuild their resources and regain a measure of themselves. As obvious as it was to say …the last few months had been a bitch. And none of them had had a moment to recover from it either. Hell, he didn't even remember the last time he'd slept through the night..

He was so caught up in the enormity of his own thoughts it took a moment for Daryl's words to actually penetrate. But when they did, he couldn't help but simply goggle at the man.

"Oh for fuck's sakes." The man exclaimed, giving him the stink eye as he ran a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. "So sue me. I looked it up before the computers went down." Daryl shrugged, a dirt streaked hand flinging behind him as if to make reference to his point before falling silent once again.

But for some reason this only made him grin all the harder. Amused by the sudden image of the man sitting in front of a lap top, blunt fingers hunting and pecking almost laboriously as he squinted up at the screen. It was almost too much to take.

The man only raised an eyebrow and glared. And while he wasn't certain on the plausibility of Daryl having somehow obtained mind reading capabilities he decided to go for the safer option and wisely decided to change the subject. …So naturally, he went and inadvertently said something ten times worse.

"Can I see?" He asked, the words halting but bold as he all but blurted them out. Regretting the words the moment they left his lips. He really needed to work on that whole foot to mouth filter thing.

But instead of backtracking the man simply nodded, like he'd somehow expected the request all along. Fixing him with a strangely cautionary look as he rolled his neck, letting the joints crack hollowly in the nearly silence before he lifted the fabric from his left side, revealing that dark smattering of scars into the low, evening light.

He let a breath hiss through his teeth, not missing the small, wincing flinch the man gave at the noise. What was going on in the man's head he right now, was something he couldn't even _begin_ to guess at. But he figured he might as well make good use of the opportunity. Letting his eye meet with Daryl's for a long, calming moment before he looked back down, hoping the man would understand his silent apology.

He could see at least two distinct sets of teeth marks, as well as a cluster of gouging slices that surrounded the mess. It was almost as if the fiends had leaned down for a second bite but had gotten beaten away before they could tear into the man properly. He bit down an internal shiver at the thought. Snatches of confused images racing across his minds eye as his brain supplemented images for everything the man had left out. _..Jesus._

Despite having long healed, the marks still looked wrong. _Angry.._Remaining puffed up from the skin like permanent, dark hued bruises, like they had never fully healed at all. …Because in reality they still stood out like wounds, like dark smudges on a scar strewn canvas. Like something wrong and terrible. Intrinsically different from the others the man had so clearly earned throughout the course of his life.

He took them in without comment, fingers itching at his sides as some distant part of his hind brain screamed at him to _touch_, to _soothe.._ And while he didn't understand the urge, he couldn't deny that the desire to do so remained remarkably appealing. Impossible, but still appealing… The man would never let him anyways… Would he?

A thousand and one questions rose to his tongue but he forced them back. Not having it in him to utter even a single one. Because the truth was that he almost didn't want to know. He didn't want to know what it had felt like. He didn't want to know what had been going through the man's mind the moment those sharp teeth had sunk into his flesh. Or what it had felt like afterward, with the sensation of that dull, vacant throb flaring up into prominence as the wounds slowly healed. Had the man felt it? The fever? Had he experienced the shooting pain of brittle bones and hacking spasms like Jim had? The man slowly dying on them in the back of that RV, loosing himself just a little more as every agonizing moment had passed him by. Had Daryl known? Was that why he'd picked up that pick-axe and made toward the injured man in the first place? And if not, what did that say about the man himself? …Knowing as he so obviously did, that there was the possibility of that exact same immunity in each and every one of them.

He didn't want to know what had crossed the man's mind when the first reports detailing the extent of the virus went public…Or even the programs debating on how it spread and how far. Had the man considered offing himself on sheer principle? Afraid he might somehow spread it to others in before he realized that if he hadn't done it already to those closest to him, he likely wouldn't at all. He didn't want to consider if the man had thought to go to the authorities right then and there, refusing to think that perhaps this could have all been somehow stopped before it had even gotten started. Because he knew, even without uttering the thought itself, that it was utter bullshit. Daryl hadn't known. After all, how could he?

"…Fuckers bite deep." Daryl remarked softly. The words almost startling him as he looked up from where he'd been focusing, too invested in following the long, subtle curve of the hunter's hip. His skin decorated with a medley of honest bruises, half discernible tattoos, and a varying collection of ropey old scars that pock mocked the length of his chest and hips.

But somehow he knew that wasn't what Daryl had meant at all. It sounded more like an apology. And for a moment he didn't understand it. Then he realized what the man meant. The words were about guilt. Daryl felt _guilty_ that he had this, this _immunity_. Christ… The world had gotten so fucked up and it was shit like this that really brought the immensity of what they had all lost slamming back to home base. To feel guilty for what was likely a natural born immunity? _Fuck. _Even before all this, that wasn't something _anyone_ in their right mind would have blamed the man for.

_It was simply how the world worked._

An unfathomable, but equally as horrible thought occurred to him then. Something barely formed and almost impossible to even _think_ about fully considering…But _Jesus__ Fuck_... _The__ CDC._

"But Jenner! The CDC! He could have worked up a cure! Why didn't you tell him?" He nearly shrilled, the rocky outcropping surrounding them only throwing his words right back in his face. Mocking him with the pitching echoes as cold cut horror struggled to claim dominance over that of surprise and flagging hope.

The man sent him a look that was clearly seconds away from utter disdain. Raising a questioning brow before he turned away, letting his shirt fall back down across his waist as he exhaled a long lungful of smoke laden air. Letting the silence play out for a long moment as the water gurgled and rushed along the river bank at their feet. Clearly collecting his thoughts as chapped lips worked around the base of the half smoked cigarette, sucking in an impressive lungful as the tip of the hand rolled cig burned ruby-red.

"Kid. You were there. You saw that place didn't 'cha?" The man began. Taking a lengthily inhale of the murky smoke before letting it build in his lungs, waiting a few ageless beats before releasing it into the darkening evening sky.

"That wasn't the time _or_ the place…" Daryl responded, voice unrepentantly confident as he flicked a stub of ash off the end of the smouldering thing with a well practiced tap.

"…Besides that doctor might have been still alive and kickin' down there… But everyone and their _maiden__ aunt_ could see he'd already check out." The man said harshly, taking another long drag on the noxious yellow tube before he made to speak again.

"You really think _he_ could have come up with a cure? The man was a ghost. _Done._ He'd made his choice. Probably made it the day he had to shoot _her_." Daryl added. Digging an already muck encrusted heel into the loose sod, stance shifting as discomfort rose up the man's limbs. Body pulling tighter as a slight wince lanced across his features. Clearly remembering the moment on that screen in the CDC where a sudden bullet had pierced through the stillness, ending the darkness that had come to cloud the synapses and receptors for good as Jenner had put a final end to his wife's suffering.

_He wondered if what she had gone through for them, for him had been worth it… Had Jenner learned anything from those images? Had he passed on what he'd learned to other Disease Control centers around the world? Shit… Why hadn't he asked these things when he'd had the chance?_

But most of all, he was stuck on the fact that it was downright unnerving how he actually sense it. The man's _feelings_. How he could see that for some reason, at this moment at least, that the man was wearing his emotions like he did his arms, bare, bold, and completely unrepentant. ..Anger, frustration, it was all there. Muscles tensing with it as the hunter turned towards the water again. Letting the shadows mask the outline of his face as the older man let the silence stretch.

And despite it all, he couldn't help but agree with the man on that. After all, Jenner _had_ been the one who had figured he was doing them all some sort of favor by nearly getting them to unwittingly join in on his little suicide party. It didn't exactly scream overwhelming confidence in the man and his abilities that was for damn sure.

"Someday there might be the right time and the right place. But it wasn't that day kid. And it isn't that day _today_ neither." The man added pointedly. Glaring out at him through the water spiked hair of his fringe, as if daring him to disagree.

Finally he nodded, letting his silence speak for him as he moved forward, joining the older man at the water's edge. It wasn't like _not_ knowing would do the others any harm anyway. Not yet at any rate. It was a lot like playing poker. You didn't reveal your winning hand until you had too. ..Bigger stakes, bigger winnings. Everyone knew that.

"You think Jenner knew? With the blood tests and all?" He asked suddenly. Mind cycling back to that desperate whisper the doctor had shared with Rick seconds before they had flown from the control room. When the ginger haired man had pulled Grimes close, lips practically brushing across the shell of his ear as the Sheriff's face had gone pale. A blank expression blanketing across his features as his eyes focused on some point across the length of that crisp white lab coat, like he wasn't really looking at anything at all.

"Hard to tell really." Daryl responded. Blunt finger tips smoothing across his stubble as the man's eyes turned inward. As if considering the matter for the first time.

He just shook his head, fingers working along the brim of his hat as he worked it across his scalp. Either way it was a lot to take in. He just couldn't seem to shake the surreal nature of the moment either. Hell, he was tempted to pinch himself, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Because really, whether it was a dream or a nightmare, he figured he wasn't far off…

"Out of all the people in the world to be immune to the disease that had effectively started the zombie apocalypse it was Daryl Dixon?" He thought with a growing half smile. Nearly braining himself a second later, slapping a hand over his mouth when he realized he had said the last bit aloud. Cursing under his breath as the man paused, cigarette lingering between his fingers as the hunter stiffened beside him.

_Aw crap._

But he was all but flabbergasted when instead of anger or even closed off suspicion the man treated him to a harsh little gurgle of a laugh. Snorting into his sweat stiffened collar as he let his head roll to the side, the motion so unexpectedly relaxed that he nearly gawped back at the older man as Daryl fixed him with a mock serious look.

"It's the Dixon blood, Short Round. The little microbial fuckers wouldn't dare." The man replied with surprisingly easy grace. A smirk flirting around the edge of his lips as the older man sank down on his haunches. Flicking a spray of water at him as a low, playful chuckle rolled off his lips. Tone so light that coming from anyone one else it would have been deemed as positively…_affectionate_.

His mouth only opened and closed for a few long moments. Mind struggling to keep up and catalog this latest development as he realized the man was only yanking his chain. …_The__ Dixon __blood__ indeed._

'_A__t __the __very__ least__ he __figured__ that the__ analogy __fit __in __with __that __of t__he__ apocalypse.__'_ He snorted internally, smiling into the curve of his neck as he watched the man's smirk only widen.

And from that moment forward he couldn't help but throw all his chips into the pot, catching the man's gaze as he gave him a deliberately toothy looking grin. …Lulling the hunter into a false sense of security the moment before he let his sneaker kick up a small burst of water in retaliation. Splattering a thick shower of water all the way up Daryl's front as the older man's eyes went dark and mischievous, promising retribution even as he lunged forward.

…The whittled down cigarette stub flew from the hunter's lips as the man grabbed him by the middle. Taking him down into the water in a flailing tangle of overly familiar limbs and barely suppressed shrieks of laughter.

And in spite of it all, even as he realized he was about to go completely arse over tea kettle into the deep end of the river bend with an armful of Daryl Dixon and fully clothed to boot, he wasn't exactly surprised to find himself grinning right back…

**A/N:** This story is now complete! Thank you for all your reviews, comments, and encouragement! I might play more with this trope in the future, it is too delicious for a single story I think! - Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_In a way, immunity simply stands as another word for freedom.." – A.G._


End file.
